


Swipe Right

by dendrite_blues



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Online Romance, Parent Tony Stark, Second Chance Romance, Single Parents, Teacher Bucky Barnes, meet ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 11:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendrite_blues/pseuds/dendrite_blues
Summary: hey we hooked up last night and it turns out you are my kid's teacher.





	Swipe Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hopespym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopespym/gifts).



> My exchange partner requested Single Parent!AU and Teachers!AU, so when I saw this 'Meet Ugly' prompt I could not resist. I hope you enjoy it!

“Tony, I swear to god if you do this again you are on your own. I’m not taking him–”

Running down the subway steps two at a time, Tony balances his cell between his ear and shoulder and finishes the knot on his tie.

“Alright, alright, cool your jets. I’m on my way.”

“The connection’s fading. Are you just now getting on the subway?” Natasha snaps.

The characteristic blast of air announces the arrival of the train and Tony practically throws his wallet at the turnstile scanner. 

“I told you, I’m running up the stairs. I’ll be there in…” using the last of his signal, he checks the transit map on his phone. Two transfers and a bus. “Five minutes. Just take Olly to school and I’ll meet you there.”

“Damn it, Stark, you call yourself a–”

The call cuts out.

“A what?” Tony asks, snickering at his own bad joke.

Slipping the phone into his pocket, he darts between the closing doors of the 7AM shame train in the same suit he wore when he got off last night.

He’s aware that he’s a terrible parent, but a man’s got needs and hungBuck69 has a bubble butt rounder than the Goodyear blimp. His best friend can judge him all she wants, but if Nat went three for three with a guy like that she would stay the night too, and that’s the fucking truth.

Granted he did forget about Back to School Day at Oliver’s school, but if there’s a man on Earth that can recall his schedule while getting a good morning blowjob, well Tony would really like to meet him. And then challenge him to do it with hungBuck’s big, dick-sucking lips slipping and sliding all over him. Point is Tony doesn’t feel entirely in the wrong for losing track of time. The dude’s got a gift.

He finds himself recalling last night while he sits on the train. The way Bucky leaned in and actually listened, the infectious smile that broke out when they discovered a mutual appreciation for eighties metal. Once he’s on the bus he makes up his mind and fishes out his phone.

His hair is a disaster in the reflective screen so he unlocks it as fast as possible. The hookup app is still open, a message waiting under their long lines of idle chit chat.

 **hungBuck69** (7:14 am): _sorry i had to dash. Last night was fun._

It’s a good thing Bucky, if that’s really his name, is hot because his capitalization is questionable at best. He’s not the most egregious offender among Tony’s mutuals, but given that his taste skews at least ten years younger than himself it’s a pretty low bar. Younger guys seem incapable of complete sentences half the time. At least ‘hungBuck’ uses punctuation.

 **ManhattanDad** (7:33 am): _No problem. I’m late too. Wonder whose fault that is?_

To his surprise, Bucky responds right away.

 **hungBuck69** (7:34 am): _yours for being such a Stud. Couldn’t help myself._

 **hungBuck69** (7:34 am): _was this u?_

A picture pops up, a tan hand holding a silver travel mug. A peace offering Tony made after the guy shot out of bed and into the shower at 5:30 like his ass was on fire.

Honestly he just wanted a cup himself and figured the guy wouldn’t mind as much if he made him some too. Deciding to play it cool and hope for the best, Tony snaps a pic of himself winking and holding up his own stolen cup.

 **ManhattanDad** (7:35 am): _And one for the road. Guess you’ll just have to come get it._

 **hungBuck69** (7:35 am): o _h i’ll come. lol_

 **hungBuck69** (7:36 am): _u free 2nite? ;-)_

2nite, seriously? And who still puts noses on emoticons? Tony rubs his droopy eyes and groans. Maybe he’s better off calling Henry the bitchy twink. This guy’s about a million times more to his taste, but at least Henry’s texts don’t make him want to gouge his eyes out.

Reluctantly, he summons up the keyboard and writes about eight versions of the message before hitting send.

 **ManhattanDad** (7:38 am): _Busy. But if you’re in the city next Saturday we can grab a bite. My treat._

For obvious reasons he generally prefers to go to theirs, but it would be nice for the booty to come to him for once. He hasn’t had a regular fling since Sam the monster cock Marine got deployed. His Uber bill is getting out of hand.

Bucky doesn’t respond for several minutes. Tony’s surprised to find that he’s put out by that. Finally, just as he’s stepping onto the curb outside Oliver’s school, his phone dings.

 **hungBuck69** (7:41 am): _on you?? thx ddy ;-)_

 **hungBuck69** (7:41 am): _saturday 9pm?_

Nine? Fucking jackpot. Most guys hum and haw when he asks them to eat a solid three hours after the dinner rush. They must have similar schedules.

 **ManhattanDad** (7:42 am): _Nine’s perfect (...)_

He hovers his thumb over the send button.

His apartment is a wreck, and no amount of cleaning will hide all the toys and video games. Does he really want this guy tripping over Olly’s shoes? Kind of, yeah. Guys like Bucky are hard to find, doubly so when you’re looking for love on a hookup app with a grand total of five minutes a day to dedicate to the search. He hits send.

 **ManhattanDad** (7:42 am): _Nine’s perfect._

 **ManhattanDad** (7:42 am): _c ya bby_

Cringing at his own stupidity, he tucks his phone away and scans the crowded courtyard of the school. Even as he regrets hitting send, his gut flutters with anticipation. A real date. With their clothes on and everything. Check him out.

With a spring in his step he wanders up the path to the main building and searches for Natasha’s distinctive red hair. A few parents from Oliver’s preschool class wave at him and for once he doesn’t have to force a smile in return. No wonder they always look so damn happy, getting laid by someone you actually like feels fucking fantastic.

Friendly looking signs direct him to check-in at the auditorium, and it’s while he’s collecting his Back to School packet and name tag that he finally spots Oliver hula-hooping with a handful of other kids on the stage. Natasha leans on the stage wall, scowling. This should be fun.

“Nice suit.” Nat says as he comes up the stage stairs. “Looks familiar.”

“Hardy har har. How pissed is he?” Tony sticks his name tag to his lapel.

“Well he’s seven. You think you can just pop out for a beer and he won’t notice?” Natasha shrugs and walks over to where Olly’s playing with Beth from class B. “If I didn’t have a box of his stuff he’d be in his pajamas right now.”

“Ok, ok, I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Tell it to him, not me.”

When Oliver sees him his face drops along with the hoop.

“Morning, sprout.”

The kid turns away and keeps talking to his friends. Ouch. Parent of the year.

“I’m heading out. Don’t you want a hug goodbye?” Natasha calls. Reluctantly Oliver runs over and hugs her, glaring at Tony the whole time.

“You can’t go yet, you haven’t met my teacher.”

“That’s your dad’s job.” Natasha pulls away.

“But what about when you pick me up?”

Now it’s Natasha who’s glaring at him. Tony smiles through the flood of guilt.

“Uh, actually we had a powwow about that.” he says quickly, stepping around to put his hand on Oliver’s back and walk him down the steps to the auditorium floor. “And starting today effective, uh, immediately, we are gonna spend more time together. Scout's honor.”

“Yeah right, you always say that.”

Helplessly, he looks over his shoulder at Nat, but she just shakes her head. He wishes Olly could just stay little forever. The older he gets the more he realizes his dad is a stinking hot mess, and Tony has no idea how to stop it. He sure as hell can’t stop himself doing this dumb shit.

Oliver frowns, stomping down the hallway full of lockers and Tony rushes to follow. Feeling like a bag of dicks, he pulls his son into an alcove by the library and kneels so they’re eye to eye.

“Okay, yes, I have said that before but this time I really mean it. No more working late, no more unexpected sleepovers. Just you and me.”

“You’re a liar. I don’t believe you.” Oliver crosses his arms, and fuck if Tony doesn't see Pepper in his glare, in his arrow-straight red hair. It kills him sometimes, how much he looks like her.

“I know.” he sighs, pinching his nose and hating himself. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m really sorry, and I’m gonna do better this time.”

“What if you mess up again?”

“I’ll make it right.” Tony swears, knowing it’s a weak promise.

“On second thought maybe I should stick around.” Natasha sighs.

“You’re siding with the first grader?” he demands.

“Will you, Aunt Natasha? Please, please, please?”

"You traitor."

“What if there's an emergency? His teacher ought to know who I am.” Natasha shrugs.

He peels Oliver’s name tag off the paper backing and pats it onto the kid’s red cardigan.

“Alright fine, we’ll all go.” Tony sighs. A glance around tells him their running out of time. The halls are empty except for a few latecomers and a short blonde teacher rushing out of the office with a stack of handouts hot off the inkjet. He rummages through the canvas bag of pamphlets until he finds the map.

“We need to find your classroom. Did you get your teacher’s name yet?"

“Mr. Barnes!” Olly says, pointing at a green band around his wrist that reads _Class A._ Tony finds the room labelled A on the map.

“Barnes...Barnes...first floor. Farthest one on the left.”

“This way.” Natasha points. Olly takes her hand and she leads them down the hall. Tony tries one last time to tame his hair and figures it’s a lost cause.

* * *

By the time they find the right classroom it’s packed to the gills with parents hunched in little blue chairs and showing the kids their new workbooks and crayons. Stepping around excited little dodgers and chattering parents, he peeks around at the name tags until he finds Oliver’s assigned seat.

The guy who must be the teacher is talking to a couple with his back turned. He’s fit, by teacher standards, broad with longish brown hair tied back. The woman’s clearly a hover parent in the middle of a long list of questions, so Tony sits Oliver down and tasks him with writing his name on all his new stuff.

Natasha sits beside him and cuts open the blister packs with tiny safety scissors, and that leaves him sipping his cold coffee and reading the cheesy motivational posters. _Reading is Fun_. _One = You + Me = Two. Apples are R-E-D._

Deep stuff. Profound. How much is he paying for this “nationally recognized” private school again? He tips back his travel mug just as the teacher escapes the clutches of the tiger mom, and in a whirl of revelations their eyes meet.

He spits coffee all over his shoes.

“Bucky?”

The teacher trips. On instinct Tony catches him. They get stuck for a drawn out second, gaping at each other while coffee drips off Tony's chin.

The teacher— _hungBuck69, what the fuck_ —clears his throat and gives the most forced smile in existence.

“You must be the Starks. I’m Mr. Barnes, Mr. _James_ Barnes.” A meaningful glare accompanies the re-introduction, and then just as abruptly his gaze snaps to Oliver. “I see you found your seat.”

“A-huh.” Olly says, distracted by Tony’s fit. “Are you okay, dad?”

“I’m fine!” Tony sputters, wiping his chin on his sleeve. “Totally, absolutely, one hundred thousand percent awesome.”

Bucky glances from Tony’s red haired son to his red haired companion and his eyes narrow.

“So when you come to school each day, I’ll tell you to put your lunch and coat in your cubby. They're over there,” Bucky points across the room, looking Tony dead in the eye. “In the closet.”

In the what? Ages too late he realizes how this looks.

“And what if he, uh, _doesn’t have a coat?_ What if he’s, you know, _coatless._ ” Tony intones, subtle as a bullhorn. Barnes' face is like stone.

“I would hope he at least has a lunch.”

“Oliver is more of a visual learner.” Natasha cuts in. “Would you mind showing him?”

“Of course.” Barnes grunts, forcing another saccharine smile and leading Oliver to the 'closeted' shelf.

Natasha jerks Tony around by the elbow.

“Care to explain yourself?” she growls.

Tony swallows. “He’s, well, um–”

“The _work project_ you were doing all night?”

“Flexible.” Tony mutters.

His ears heat up under Natasha’s unimpressed attention, but he refuses to look chagrined. Believe it or not the dude is even hotter in a sweater vest. The word “score” feels appropriate.

“Unbelievable.” Natasha sighs.

“Okay, so this is awkward,” Tony says, leaning in closer so as not to be overheard. “But on a positive note you finally met my ongoing booty call. Who you really, really wanted to meet–”

“This is not what I had in mind.”

“What, you think I _planned_ this? You think I get my dates on hot4teacher.com?”

“Dad, look!” Olly shouts behind their backs and they both jump, spinning around too fast. “Mr. Barnes says we get to go to the aquarium.”

“If you get your permission slip signed.” Barnes corrects. He hands Olly a permission slip with a cartoon fish on the header. 

“Okay, I think we’re having a small misunderstanding.” Tony starts, and sputters out when Olly waves the paper at Natasha.

“Will you sign please? Dad will forget anyway.”

“Either parent is fine.” Barnes says, brushing imaginary dust off his pants with an icy glare. “Parent-teacher conferences are held as needed, but Oliver seems like a smart boy. I’m sure we won't be seeing each other again.”

Tony’s gut drops, and maybe his mouth sags open along with it. He really likes Bucky...er... _James_. Maybe three successful dates wouldn’t be a milestone for someone else, but for him it’s a home run. Between his single parent schedule, his unambitious career as a mechanic, and his tendency to forget what day it is, three consecutive dates just don’t happen. And they certainly don’t happen with guys who like kids enough to spend forty hours a week surrounded by them.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other at pickup?” he says weakly, earning a raised eyebrow from Natasha and an even darker tilt to Bucky’s tense mouth.

“Any other questions should be answered in the lesson plan.” Bucky deflects, "Now if you'll excuse me–”

“Hang on, you've got this all wrong.”

“I have other students to meet, Mr. Stark. Excuse me.”

Bucky wastes no time engaging himself with a young hipster couple.

“Fudgesicle.” Tony curses, running his hands through his hair.

“Tony–” Natasha starts.

“We should celebrate." he says sharply, gathering up Olly's school supplies in a rush. "Your first day of big boy school. Hooray! Who wants ice cream?”

“I do.” Olly says, raising his hands in the air.

“Alright, that’s what I’m talking about!”

If it weren't for Oliver's short legs, he would have run straight out of the building.

* * *

By the time they’re on the bus home from Frenchy’s Freeze, Tony’s already decided to make a fool of himself. His normally sedate taste in ice cream took a detour into triple scoop Candy Land, and after that display of stress eating it seems like a health hazard not to try.

As soon as he gets Olly nice and distracted on his tablet, Tony pulls out his phone and tries not to linger on Bucky’s shirtless profile picture.

 **ManhattanDad** (10:26 am): About Saturday…thoughts on pho?

No response. Not for long minutes as the bus lurches through downtown traffic.

 **ManhattanDad** (10:29 am): My friend with the red hair works at a killer Thai place. She can get us a great discount.

 **hungBuck69** (10:30 am): fk off

Yikes. Hastily he taps a response, rushing to get it out before Bucky changes his mind about talking.

 **ManhattanDad** (10:30 am): I really cannot overemphasize the “friend” part. We've never had sex.

 **ManhattanDad** (10:31 am): Seriously, she likes goths. Skinny goths with neck tattoos. You would be shocked.

 **hungBuck69** (10:30 am): i don’t date closet cases.

The bus lumbers through a particularly violent pothole and Tony scrambles to keep the tablet in Olly’s little hands as they jerk and sway. When he looks back at his phone the chat line is gone. The messages are gone. Bucky’s profile is gone. The son of a bitch blocked him.

Stunned, he watches his little dot move on the app's map function. With a heavy sigh he locks his phone and slumps in his seat. Watches the city streak by in the window. Despite the press of bodies all around and Olly’s legs kicking in the next seat, he feels ridiculously alone.

They didn’t warn him about this in the cutesy pregnancy books or the hippy dippy lamaze classes. The cancer pamphlet did, but only in terms of grief counselling and “surviving a loved one.” Surviving isn’t as hard as they made it sound. Surviving, as it turns out, is just eating and working and sleeping when he can afford the pills.

Two hours too late it sinks in that Olly’s in first grade now. Not daycare or preschool or kindergarten. Not a baby at all. He’s seven and Pepper died when he was two, which means Tony has been “surviving” for half a decade. He's fucking tired of it.

At thirty-four he's a bit stale for true love, but Bucky seemed like the next best thing. Smart, funny, quietly nerdy. A fully employed hottie with a big dick, no priors, and the same taste in music. As far as second-hand dudes like Tony go, that’s top tier. He really thought he had a chance this time.

Rocking into the brakes, the bus hisses and the doors open onto their stop. It’s a long walk home but they’re both used to it, and it makes the barely functional heating in the building's lobby feel down right tropical.

There’s a stale muffin sitting on top of the mailboxes that’s been there all week, and his eyes fixate on it as he smacks the elevator call button. Something itches at him, a vague idea gaining traction.

The first night they got matched he was at the neighborhood coffee shop grabbing a pick-me-up after work. When hungBuck asked if he'd fancy a blowjob Tony picked up an extra danish on a whim. They’d done the nasty unceremoniously on the kitchen counter and he’d been brusquely informed that Bucky only liked bran muffins and black coffee.

Honestly, he wanted to ask him out right then and there because Tony also prefers food that tastes like a punch in the face. He subsists on low-sodium everything and overpriced organic crap because losing the love of his life in his twenties made him suddenly very afraid of illness. Bucky's general appearance screams gym rat, but there are health nuts and there are _health nuts_. He didn’t know he wanted the latter until he was blissed out on a laminate countertop covered in his own jizz and watching Bucky drink utterly unsweetened dark roast right out of the pot.

Blinking vacantly at the abandoned muffin he's horrified to discover that after just two weeks he doesn't want anyone else. The elevator arrives and he hustles Olly upstairs.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day cleaning up the apartment, and when Tony checks the calendar he’s surprised to find a birthday marked for Saturday. A sleepover with Olly’s best friend from kindergarten.

Bucky's address is fresh on his navigation app. Natasha wouldn’t need to know.

The apartment doesn't get cell reception, so five minutes has him thumbing through the yellow pages like it’s 1995. Listings flutter and split onto a half page ad for a bakery in Queens, a muffins-only establishment that Tony would bet his ass is run by a couple of cheeky pun-loving lesbians.

He’ll look like a complete ass or possibly a stalker, but he can make a last attempt. It’s a distressingly slim chance, hinging on a detail that probably doesn’t mean as much to Bucky as it does to him. But it’s worth a shot. He's not sure he could live with wondering what might have been.

For his own piece of mind he fishes a Sharpie out of the junk drawer and pulls the cap off with his teeth. 

_Saturday, August 11 -  9 p.m. Kiss Bucky's Ass_

Inspecting the messy letters, he reconsiders, and adds:

_Saturday, August 11 - 9 p.m. ~~Kiss~~  Eat Bucky's Ass_

Optimism never killed anyone, probably.

* * *

Bucky’s apartment is on the Upper East Side, which on a teacher’s salary is nothing to sneeze at. If he had to guess Tony would bet he comes from money. Which is not comforting at this precise moment, given that his grand gesture to win over said possibly rich heir cost about twenty dollars and came in a pink paper box.

He didn’t make it to the laundromat last weekend, so all he has left are worn-out band shirts and jeans that fit a whole lot better when he had that cushy desk job at the engineering firm. Now he spends his days changing tires and lifting engine parts, so the old jeans slip down every few steps and make him feel like a punk kid in hand-me-downs.

He doesn’t let his sloppiness deter him. Chances are he’s about to humiliate himself anyway. It's not like it would be any less mortifying in a three piece. And hey, if he fails he’ll walk away with muffins.

Before he can panic, he knocks hard on the door and side steps the peephole so Bucky will actually open. Trickery probably isn’t a stunning start to what he hopes will be a bad ass relationship, but at this point he’ll take what he can get. His heart thumps in his chest as he waits with his back against the wall, his fingers tapping anxiously against the pastry box like rain on a tin roof. If Bucky doesn’t open the door he’s not sure what he’ll do.

Squeaky hinges save him from having to decide. _Now or never,_ he thinks, and steps in front of the door.

What starts as calm curiosity drops into a scowl. Bucky pulls on the door handle, but Tony gets his foot in just in time.

“Hear me out–”

“Go away.”

“I’m single! Okay? I’m out, I’m clean. I–” Tony trips over his tongue. He holds up the box. “I brought muffins? And coffee.”

“You think you can just show up whenever you want?”

“Technically we had a date. You never said we were _off_. Not directly.”

“I told you to fuck off.”

Some guy turns the corner down the hallway and suddenly the situation seems like a recipe for disaster. He looks like a fucking weirdo, arguing at someone's door with obvious bribes.

“Just give me a fucking chance.” he begs, as quietly as he can without losing the force behind his words. “You’re looking for a long term thing, right? That’s what your profile said. I am too, and I like you. I think we’ve got something.”

“I’m calling the cops.” Bucky growls, pulling hard enough that the door makes an unsettling cracking sound. The bypasser gives them a dubious look and Tony decides he’s already come too far. Might as well go all the way.

Putting his shoulder into the jam he pushes against Bucky’s weight and slowly gets his arm in.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“What isn’t wrong with me?” Tony wonders out loud, forcing himself past the threshold.

The door slams behind him with a deafening sound. Bucky’s apartment isn’t anything special, a bit nicer than his and in a much better part of town, but ultimately average. It’s a one room affair with a big bed and a bigger TV, a corner kitchen and a bathroom fit for one.

Panting, anxious now that he’s past the point of no return, he opens the box and holds it out like the weak offering it is.

“I really should have known going in, but apparently ‘bran’ is a much wider category of muffins in vegan bakeries.” he says lamely, glancing between the spread of wheaty brown cakes and Bucky’s fuming face. “That one’s lemon, and these are...uh, blueberry? I think. And those are with something called agave?”

Bucky’s expression shifts, although Tony can’t parse in what way. There’s still tension, and disapproval, and a distinct sense of distance, but his brows lift up and his eyes seem to skip around like he’s reading a newspaper.

“Why the hell would I want two dozen muffins?”

“I didn’t know which kind you’d like.” Tony shrugs “So I bought ‘em all.”

Bucky paces to the fridge and back, sighing.

“Do you not understand what blocking is?”

“I understand what a missed opportunity is.” Tony says, using the given space to set the box down on the kitchen counter and shimmy the stolen travel mug out of his satchel.

He slides out his phone and opens the photo app, tapping and flicking until he finds the album he normally avoids. Steeling himself against the old pangs of grief he pulls up a frame from the last hospital stay.

Pepper looks bad in the picture, skinny with all her hair gone and tubes all over her. It’s a smear on her memory, but he can’t think of a better way to clear his name. He holds it out between then and flicks left a couple times. He knows from memory that the next several photos feature her and Oliver, just a toddler at the time. Even that young they look exactly alike, the same hair and eyes and nose.

“The woman you met is Oliver's aunt, and I meant it when I said she has terrible taste.” he continues, turning the phone back around and locating the latest picture of her with her boyfriend. Ick. “She works nights at the diner, and the owner went to school with us. He lets Olly sit in the back if I have to be somewhere.”

“You couldn’t have told me that sooner?” Bucky growls, dropping his hands to his sides. “As in, immediately?”

“Well you didn’t exactly let me.” Tony shakes his head and selects a muffin at random.

“I’m still your son’s teacher.”

“We can be subtle?” Tony says in a hopeful voice, opening the cabinet and pulling out two mugs for the coffee. Before he has a chance to grab it, Bucky unscrews the cap on the thermos and pours a cup for them both.

“Why the hell do you care so much?”

The words sting more than he’d like to admit. He’d hoped they were both riding the love chemicals. Apparently not. He shrugs, massaging his neck.

“Because if I have to tell one more person I’m thinking about ‘nothing’ when I’m actually thinking about you, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

His fingers pick at the wrapper of a muffin, peeling it back with more care than the task deserves. Bucky leans on the counter beside him, and suddenly it’s the most fascinating muffin in the world. Brown, glazed with some kind of egg wash and are those blueberries? Gosh, blueberries are interesting. Round, kinda shrivelly from the oven...

“I was married.” Bucky admits, and before he registers what he's doing Tony's head whips to stare at him. His profile said he was in his twenties and he looks the part. _Liar, liar._ Granted, Tony’s page says he's a 5’ 11” weightlifter so he can hardly throw stones.

Bucky tilts his head and spreads his lips in a joyless smile.

“I’m thirty-five, not twenty-five. Divorced. You sure you want to tell people about me?”

“What do you think this is, Pretty Woman? You’re a fucking catch.” Tony says off-hand, surprising himself with how quickly the answer comes to mind. “I’m gonna tell anybody who will listen.”

“You really mean that, don't you?” Bucky sighs, and suddenly he seems close. Very, very close and dressed down in a tank top that shows all his muscles.

“Well I really want thai.” Tony trails off, his eyes stuck on pouty, bowed lips.

Bucky catches him staring. He leans an arm on the cabinet. Warm breath puffs on his cheek and although his first kiss was a million years ago there’s some kind of newness to the feeling of scratchy stubble on his lips and a bigger hand on his neck.

No woman could ever compare to Pepper, but he doesn't want that anyway. That part of his life is over.

He doesn’t want tentative closed mouth kisses at the eighth grade dance or holding hands like they aren’t sure they’re allowed. The dreamy blush of childhood sweet-hearting faded along with Pepper's vitality and now he just wants something solid to hold onto. Someone stronger than him that knows how fucking hard life is when you're on your own and you're just trying to keep your shit together.

The way their lips meet is a new kind of first kiss. This time he knows what he wants. He leans in and lets his hands wander up Bucky’s flat chest and play with the coarse hair at the nape of his neck. He breathes in the musky smell of cheap shampoo and expensive cologne and his body burns. Pulling him closer, he opens his mouth in a hungry plea and hops up on the counter because Bucky’s too damn tall to kiss without straining his neck.

With a groan, Bucky rocks their hips together and he forgets why the hell he wanted to go anywhere but the bedroom.

“Dinner?” Bucky rasps, out of breath and flushed. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Too hot to wait.

Tony fumbles blindly for the muffin he unwrapped earlier and breaks off a chunk. He holds the morsel to Bucky's mouth and his blood surges when his tongue accidentally brushes Tony’s fingertips.

“Muffins count, right?” he asks, rocking into the growing hardness in Bucky’s jeans.

“If you say so.” Bucky replies, and Tony thinks they'll get on just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for a really great list of prompts! I honestly had trouble choosing which ones to write. Happy Holidays and may the coming year bring you lots of good times.
> 
> Also for my regular readers, [I have moved to Dreamwidth](https://dendriteblues.dreamwidth.org/) . Find me there and we can chat! :D


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